Page 146 of Trailer Trash

Fuck this. I’m not gonna pine over some trashy whore.

So I give Brax zero slack.

“Yep, you got a tiny prick. What’s her name so I can show her what a real hog looks like.”

Oddly, I grimace at my own words.

Harlow.

I’m not with her. I never was. I can sleep with whoever I want.

I’ve been so hung up on that woman, this is the first time I’ve thought of fucking my problems away.

Brax shakes his head. “I ain’t telling you. That glory hole is mine.”

He takes the bloody tissue from my hand, balls it up and tosses it into the trash like a basketball player.

This guy doesn’t give a fuck about anything. I need to be more like Brax.

One night at Brax’s becomes a week.

Then another.

By the end of July, only a month since leaving, Dad freezes my trust payments. To make up for it, I help Brax move product. I sell in clubs, in bars, and in crack houses. It’s ugly business, but I don’t care. They’re fucked up, too.

Two months after I leave home, strangers know me by name. “Go see the Joker. Go see Scarface. Go see Two-Face. Brax’s guy. He’s got the stuff.”

I’m becoming mythical. Too bad I’m dead inside. I’m not sad. Not glad. I exist.

By October, this life isn’t the same as I remember. I don’t know what I expected. I wanted a clean break like before, where my family was gone and my next high was all that mattered. Asher is free. I don’t want to join him on purpose, but I’ll have fun while I get closer. I buy myself some chains. Watches. Nice clothes. I need to do something with all this money.

I’m fine — until I think about Harlow. I bet she’s with someone else now, or whoring herself out.

A dagger thrusts into my heart, and I have to remember how to breathe.

Fuck, I haven’t thought of that. I wouldn’t let myself. Every time she trespasses into my thoughts, I do another hit. But these moments — these mini heart attacks — are becoming more frequent. Sometimes, they’re just seeing her face, remembering our time together, or when I jerk off. I’ve never done lines of coke when I touch myself. I do now.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, waiting for my chest to loosen. Maybe if I see her with another man, I’ll feel better about it. Then, there will be no doubt she never really loved me. I shouldn’t have left my phone. Now I can’t confirm myself. Maybe Atticus could check.

No. Move on, man.

I make it four days before calling Atticus. I tell myself I only need to know she still has the car, and that nobody is hurting her. Atticus joins me beside the pool, taking a seat beside my poolside lounger.

I swing my legs over and look directly at him. “What’d ya got?”

“You said you wanted her messages,” Atticus says. “You didn’t say you were going to hurt people over them. I heard about Evan.”

“That asshole? He took advantage of her when she was vulnerable. He paid her for sex instead of just giving her the money. He is an opportunist. I’m not the bad guy.”

He stares, contemplating, then finally nods. “Harlow’s still going to nursing school and working nights.”

“Does she have the car?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. She needs it,” I mumble.

I still pay her car insurance. It means nothing. I just have too much money.